


More Pants for the Pants God

by dev_chieftain



Series: Rugged [3]
Category: Dragon Age 2
Genre: Gen, Limericks, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-11
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:51:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dev_chieftain/pseuds/dev_chieftain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then an anon requested the limerick-off from <i>Top of the List</i> and well, here it is. Any excuse for more M!Hawke/Varric. Maybe a bit of Fenris/Isabela snuck in there right and proper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Pants for the Pants God

"What are the stakes?" Anders had demanded.

"Pants," Isabela said simply. "If you're wearing 'em you have to take 'em off. If you're not wearing 'em, you have to put 'em on and take off whatever you're covering your legs with."

Varric stroked his chin thoughtfully, and decided (very wisely) to ask, "What do pants-wearers wear in the absence of pants?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing!" Anders barked indignantly.

"Afraid to lose, mage?" Fenris sneered drunkenly from his broody corner, where he was trying (without any success) to look like he wasn't strangely interested in the idea of Isabela _wearing_ pants. That which is forbidden is most desired, after all.

"All right." Wounded pride aside, Anders was convinced he could certainly win. "I'm in. Who's moderating?"

"I will!" Hawke offered cheerily, though he was just as quickly overridden by Isabela flatly telling him _no_. "Whyever _not_?"

"You're biased," she said simply. "Sebastian or Aveline."

Anders frowned. "Aveline's not _here._ "

"Ah, but Sebastian is! How fortuitous. Sebastian, you judge."

Sebastian, who had been thoroughly engaged in friendly conversation with Norah (who seemed not to realize that Sebastian was politely Not Accepting Her Advances), glanced up at the sound of his name. "I what?"

"Judge."

"Judge what now?"

"Limerick competition. Three rounds. Each round you pick who to eliminate."

"So you're saying it's just three people?"

"Who, aside from you, me, and Varric, is going to participate?" Isabela asked wryly. It was fair enough; Fenris certainly wasn't, and while he had been eager to judge, Hawke seemed completely disinterested in the possibility of participating.

And then Merrill chimed in happily, "Oh, I will!"

"Right." Isabela grinned. "Good show, Kitten. Four rounds then. You know your job, right, Choirboy?"

Sebastian sighed, rolling his eyes and smiling fondly. "Very well. Any particular scale you wanted me to judge these by?"

"How good they are! Obviously!"

"But--"

"Kitten!" Isabela whirled, pointing at Merrill. "Go!"

"Ah- ah!" With all eyes in the Hanged Man on her, suddenly Merrill was floundering. She coughed into one hand politely. "On top of the mountain now sundered, a pair of young lovers had slumbered. They woke and were old, and their love had grown cold, but why did they sleep thus, I wonder?"

"I-- oh," Sebastian frowned slightly. "That was rather bleak."

"Was it supposed to be something else?"

With no answer to that, the would-be Prince shrugged. "I suppose not."

"Varric, go."

"Haply thou art repentant whilst clutching your heart like a pendant; but wild-children seldom win Andraste's forgiving resplendence," Varric muttered wryly, waggling his eyebrows when Sebastian frowned at him.

"Me next!" Isabela coughed politely. "There once was a boy in the Chantry who made all them priestesses antsy. They'd taken him in all a-rarin' to sin, but he considered their motives too chancy."

Another cough followed, though this was from Sebastian. His look of displeasure suggested he was already regretting his agreement to partake of this competition. With a wry grin, Anders shrugged.

"Are we doing themes?" At Isabela's nod, he just chuckled. "Very well. _I've heard tell that the prince of Starkhaven  
Used to sup on the food of the craven  
but they scraped his slate clean  
made him poor, pious, lean  
and like a pup, he took right to behaving._"

The roar of laughter through the bar was, Sebastian thought with a small frown, not helping him to be more amused at his own expense. He shrugged at Merrill, who shrugged back. "I-- I suppose yours wasn't really in theme. I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's all right. I just wanted to try!" Merrill grinned, sitting down beside Hawke, with whom she began some whispered conversation about the goings-on that Varric _itched_ to overhear but could not subtly eavesdrop upon whilst otherwise engaged.

Sebastian cleared his throat politely. "Er, Merrill-- you have to put on someone's pants."

"Yes!" Isabela crowed, waving Norah over. "Fetch a couple of pairs of trousers from the storage closet!"

"We ain't got spares," Norah growled, walking towards the storage closet in any case. "Leastwise, we got rag-fodder. Them's old, but they're still wearable. Just threadbare."

"Perfect!"

And soon enough, Merrill was wearing a pair of threadbare whitish pants, looking considerably lankier than she usually did.

"Round two!" Isabela shouted excitedly. "This time, the theme is _our favorite rogue._ "

"So, Hawke," Anders said easily, eyeing her wryly. "Or Varric? Surely you can't mean yourself."

"Ouch." She punched his shoulder lightly. "Yes, I meant Hawke. Varric, go!"

"The naughty assassin's obsession  
with the Chantry priest's chaste affections  
earned forty lashes  
with branches of ashes  
and left him a throbbing erection."

"Oh!" Isabela cackled madly. "Oh, I like it! Here we are:  
In Ferelden they never could tell  
If they were facing them Hawkes or Amells  
In the City of Chains, no one yet knows his name  
But as thieves go in bed, he's just _swell._ "

"Very funny," Hawke sniffed, his grin oddly feral. Interesting.

This time, Anders ducked Isabela's punch. "Get ready to wear pants," he muttered. "Though I'd often thought myself above it, the rogue was unbearably _rugged_ \--"

Here, Anders paused, catching Hawke's startled glance. The rogue's eyes narrowed, but the mage only smirked slightly as he continued.

"--like any smug bastard, he got good and plastered and passed out before I could rub it."

"Anders!" Hawke shouted, scandalized. Never mind their judge, whose face was flushed with a bit more than passing interest.

He wasn't off the hook, in any case, and with much badgering from Isabela, Sebastian eventually recovered enough to declare her the loser. Varric smiled smugly up at Anders, whilst Isabela sulkily pulled on a pair of baggy, dark pants that seemed to work like magnets on Fenris. When she noticed this development, her mood improved significantly.

"Final round!" Isabela shouted over the din of the bar. "Each contestant does a limerick about the other! Anders, you first, you rat bastard."

"Oh, so we're changing up the order now?" He laughed. "All right, let's see. The, uh--"

Looking Varric up and down, Anders stroked his chin.

" _It's often said of Dwarvenkind  
That they like drink, stone, and good times  
But ser Tethras wants more  
than some two-copper whore  
that is to say: for your mind._"

There was not even a pause as Varric batted his lashes, responding immediately, "In Darktown, I heard there was a mage  
who chose Ferelden refugees to save  
but he barely ate  
and never got dates  
No wonder: the man never shaves!"

"AHA!" Isabela shouted loudly. "You'll have to take your pants off now, you git!"

Anders slanted her a _look_. "I don't _wear_ pants. Hello? Mage?"

Only then did she realize that her plan had backfired. Making a moue of disappointment that just _did not last_ with Fenris's hands excitedly on her thighs, Isabela sighed. "Spoilsport. We should've teamed up against Varric."

He politely didn't inform them that they'd never had a chance.


End file.
